


Show 'Em What You're Made Of

by RiaRose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - Music, Angst, Band Fic, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Drama, Eventual Relationships, Fluff, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone, Rating May Change, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaRose/pseuds/RiaRose
Summary: -Aging boy band the Avengers are quite happy where they are, thank you very much; they have a loyal fanbase, and the ability to continue to make the music they love without the pressure of the current musical climate. Natasha Romanoff has just been picked (thrown in) as their new manager. Not only does she has to deal with five stubborn personalities that only care about each other and their fans, but their personal lives as well: Clint's flighty vocal issues, Bruce's health, Thor's guilt over leaving and coming back, Steve's long missing best friend showing up after thirty years, and Tony Stark, who's just a hot mess all around. A challenge maybe but she's SO got this. Right?
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 47
Collections: Avengers as Family, Ultimate Favorites





	Show 'Em What You're Made Of

**Author's Note:**

> Aging boy band? Well, I'm an aging fangirl. This was prompted to me because of my undying love for the Backstreet Boys, and is heavily based on my substantial knowledge of them. It's also written as an homage, the title taken from one of their singles and also the title to their documentary. Each chapter title is from their released and unreleased songs as well.
> 
> To be fully immersive as a story, I opted to use BSB group songs and solo songs as the music made by the Avengers. Each song will have a link to YouTube so you can listen and completely dip yourself into this world. At each beginning of every chapter, I'll link to the song/album I used to help my muse create in case you just want to put that on repeat like I did to write. 
> 
> That being said, a few important story notes that you need to understand to continue: 
> 
> 1\. This is eventual Stony (what? A BSB fan pulling a Lance Bass? Why yes, yes I am.) As such, the rating may go up because I may decide to write some sexy sexy times.
> 
> 2\. I will be dealing with the issues of non-consensual sex and underage sexual abuse later on. If you know the entertainment industry and what they do to the youth starting out, you understand. The underage stuff will not be explicit, but the noncon of an adult probably will be. I will adjust the rating accordingly if that's the case. I will also note at the beginning of any chapter if there is a potential for a rating increase for that particular part.
> 
> 3\. There are mentions of child abuse (non-sexual) of a minor by a parent.
> 
> 4\. There are mentions of alcoholism and rehabilitation. 
> 
> 5\. There are mentions of bar fights, DUIs, and emotional trauma not connected to any of the above.
> 
> 6\. One of the subplots does deal with a homeless veteran on the verge of suicide.
> 
> I try my best to adhere to the real things young men and women are dealt with in the entertainment industry and the fallout of such. 
> 
> But there is humor and brotherly love. Romance, justice, and empowerment. They are fun times to counter the bad and joy to counter the sad. 
> 
> Also, I'm a firm believer in happy endings in my fiction.
> 
> Finally, for this chapter, I listened to the Never Gone album on repeat. Link to the playlist here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_nKHrqlOFFWuSDm03kqnr5C2cTmWa75qMc
> 
> Also, no other author note will be quite this long. Girl Scout honor!

__

_Prologue: She's A Dream_

"I'm very happy to see how you handled that Miranda Cummings incident last week," Nick Fury said, leaning back in his office chair and propping his feet on his oak desk. "You are more than a manager, Nat, you're public relations and promotion rolled into one."

"A one stop shop, sir, that's what I try to be." Natasha was pleased. Miranda, however, was a nightmare: a budding pop starlet with a proclivity for partying and drugs, she had a loose wallet and even looser morals. Natasha had spent the better part of the previous eight months chasing her down and ordering a semblance of control within the singer to _save her damn career._

"You know," Fury continued, "you're a valued asset to this firm, but you don't _have_ to leave your positions once you think you've done enough damage control."

"I prefer a challenge, sir."

He chuckled, "Don't we all?" Picking up a folder from the pile on his desk, Fury paused. "I'd like to see you stick with an act for more than a year."

Eyeing the folder critically, Natasha responded, "With all due respect, sir, I have no loyalty to any of these people. I go in, do my job, and get out."

"I admire that about you, but it also drives me insane. We're a management firm, Natasha," Fury spoke, pulling his feet from the desk and leaning forward, "and not a temporary one."

"I know that, sir-"

He held his hand up to stop her. "We represent some of the biggest names in music and movies. So far you've dealt with _saving_ careers only, with the exception of resurrecting one. I'd like to see you work with an act with a considerate fan base but not much weight in the industry anymore. A real challenge." He held up the folder, "And I'd _like_ to see you last longer than twelve months."

"It's not like I purposely have an expiration date, they just don't _need_ me anyone," she argued. "I'm a heavy lifter, a sprinter. Not a marathon runner."

"That's where you're wrong. They absolutely _do_ still need you." He dropped the folder in front of her, but she didn't reach out to take it. "These guys," he tapped the file, "are stubborn as fuck."

Raising her eyebrows, Natasha barked out a laugh, "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. They've seen it all. And they _think_ they don't need the help." He sat back. "Eighteen months. That's what I want to see."

"Eighteen months!"

"Eighteen months," he repeated. "All the info is in here," he said, tapping the file again. "Start with tour dates, they have an album set to come out in January. Focus on promotion, on setting up a public image of an old group with a fresh sound. Go into your first meeting _prepared_. They don't like to waste time with pleasantries unless it's with their fans or each other."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Natasha balked, finally reaching out to pick up the thick folder. 

"Not at all. I should also mention no manager in the past ten years has lasted longer than four months with them."

Her mouth dropped. _None?_ "Nick, what the hell are you sending me into?"

"They have trust issues."

"Trust issues?"

He nodded, "Do your research on them. And _don't_ play them for fools. They're older and they're pop, but they're intelligent and talented men. If you do this," he stood and walked around the desk, "then I have a nice cushy office waiting for you as a partner."

Her mouth _almost_ dropped. _Partner!_ It was everything she wanted--everything she had worked for! "Eighteen months?"

"And make their star shine bright again."

"Don't start getting all philosophical on me _now_ , Nick," she lightly teased, her heart ready to burst in excitement. "Established fan base, talent, and intelligence. This is _apple pie_ , sir."

"Open the file."

Frowning, Natasha laid the crease in her left palm and flipped it open with her right. "The Avengers! Nick, _no!"_

"Thought this was apple pie, Nat?"

"Nick, Jesus, fuck. These guys' _issues_ have issues. It's not a matter of packing a bag and sending them to rehab, they've been there, done that. They're damaged goods, Nick. Obie Stane himself is enough to keep me away from them, hell, keep _anyone_ away from them, and Stane's not even connected with their brand anymore."

"They're extraordinarily talented. _And I like them._ " High praise coming from him. " _Partner_ , Natasha. Think about being _made_ _partner_."

With a lot less gusto than before, she scrunched up her face and met his eye. "Eighteen months?"

"And get them back on top."

"It better be a big office, Nick. Huge. Corner. I want lots of windows!"

"I'll get you a damn fountain if you can do this!" Fury exclaimed, "I'll put a fucking palm tree in there."

"It better be a big palm tree," she muttered, gazing down at the handsome faces of the five aging boy band members. "With coconuts. So then at least I'll be in good company."

She was _so_ screwed.

* * *

 **  
**_Chapter One: This is Us_ **  
**

"Yeah, but that one sounds like _I Still-_ -the fans will notice."

"The fans will _definitely_ notice, but that doesn't mean it's not a good song."

"True, but we have so many that would fit the album perfectly. Is it a song that will make or break the album? Or just one we happen to like?"

"I vote _maybe pile_ for right now. We have twenty-three other songs to think about."

Three weeks after her meeting with Fury, Natasha Romanoff paused at the door to the conference room, listening to the voices of the boy band--excuse me, _vocal harmony group_ \--she had grown up listening to. Once, she may have been able to distinguish each separate voice from the other, but years after she left her teenybopper phase, they just sounded like strangers. 

And somehow, she was supposed to manage them. 

Still, they had a strong fanbase, selling out venues around the world and pulling in money, despite the lack of radio play. Fury had said they were a good group to work for. Well behaved (these days), stable (these days), and kind (apparently that never changed). She knew what the files said, hell, she'd seen most of it live on television: addictions, arrests, bar fights...plus that whole debacle with Obie Stane, the mogul who created the group.

But yet, over twenty years later, the Avengers were still going strong. 

It was a testament to both their bond to each other and their commitment to their fans. Natasha knew that there were worse acts out there to manage. But they were still considered poison to work for. She _had_ done her research. She knew that aside from a few other celebrity friends, they kept to themselves. Built a wall around their own little world and the tiny empire they established. Only encompassing what they trusted. Adult fangirls. The occasional fan _boy_. And the five of them. No one else fit. The bridge was drawn and the moat filled. 

Not like it mattered; no other manager could stand to deal with their know-it-all, blunted view of the industry for more than a couple of months. She worried at the suffocating implications of that. Drugs she could handle, co-dependency not so much. 

She poked her head into the room, knocking twice and pasting a smile on her face. "Hello! How are you? I'm Natasha." The album talk immediately ceased as the five men stood to shake her hand. She took stock of each of them, mentally listing everything she knew about the members. It didn't hurt that in her more innocent youth, she had been completely enamored with them, that is until she grew up and out of manufactured pop and fell right into metal and rock. But that meant she had a good feel for what they were about as artists. _That_ was the first step.

(And she'd be lying if she wasn't just _a little_ flustered at seeing five seriously handsome men greeting her, despite knowing what she did. Boy bands were _made_ to have that effect on people.)

"Bruce," said a man with curly hair, taking her hand lightly. _Bruce Banner, the falsetto_. His voice clear and crisp on their records, lifting the harmonies like a swift breeze in the middle of a hot summer day. He had no record to speak of, just a string of bad relationships and a temper that took a lot to goad but was rumored to be fierce. Divorced with one child, a son named Nikola, he had an amicable relationship with his ex-wife. He also had a penchant for misanthropic escapes and fast food. He'd have to tell her the secret to how he stayed thin.

"Hi, Bruce, so nice to meet you." She widened her grin, turning on the charm and moving to face the next man. Clint Barton. _Her favorite_ . "Clint, right?" _Keep it cool, you're not twelve anymore. Just think about being a partner._ He was still just as handsome as the days when she had his poster on the wall above her bed, his smile just as dashingly cheeky. _Oh, that's a dangerous grin, all right._

He took her hand. "That's me!" One of the three leads back in the day before they started dividing up the solos equally, he had a strong melodic voice, though he had struggled with vocal problems a few years prior: mental stress from an illness and losing his brother tragically. Single. No kids. _Damaged goods_ , she tried to remind herself.

"I'm Thor!" The booming voice of the group's bass said, sticking his hand out. Boy, was _he_ strong. His history included Norwegian parents that emigrated before he was born, a slight accent from his raising, and an arrest for a bar fight that was rumored to have ended with him using a taser on some guy and laughing about it. But everyone she spoke to had said he was _the nicest guy they ever met._ His voice was deep, like the roots of a mountain, steady and concrete, he held the harmonies up, never letting them fall. He was married with two daughters, Hedda and Katrine, two weirdly Norse names.

She moved to the next one, Steve Rogers: another lead. Tall and handsome with the body of an Adonis. Not a single negative thing in his file save for his robust activism concerning homeless veterans. Former soldier in the Gulf War, discharged honorably after two years. Went into music for some reason. "Steve," he shook her hand with a bright smile, all teeth, and sweetness. He had the golden voice, melodic and full, like honey on ice cream. Also unattached romantically, though he had a fling with a model named Peggy two years prior. No children.

And that left…

"Tony Stark! How _you_ doing?"

Raising her eyebrows at the greeting but still smiling, Natasha took his hand as well. Tony was a handful. Always had been. Rehab twice for alcohol addiction, one stemming from a DUI, two arrests for bar fights, and a whole charade of bad publicity relationships. But she also knew he came from a broken and abusive home, and there were those rumors about Obie Stane… Regardless, he had boasted recently about being over ten years sober and hadn't had an incident in almost as long. Could be worse. Another lead in the group, with a voice she had heard compared to that of an angel with a smoking problem. He was smooth and raspy in places, and in others his voice rang out like church bells. He was single, but probably had some kids out there. Maybe. Most likely. If it looks like a slut and acts like a slut… 

"I'm good, glad to be here! Sorry I'm late," she rushed right into business, laying her briefcase on the long oak table and gesturing for them to return to their seats, "I have the contracts for the tour, but first I want to talk about promo for the album. Have you decided on a first single yet?" Steve opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed on, always organized and a born leader. And also, the more she established friendly dominance to begin with, the better her chances at making it through the next eighteen months, "Never mind that, get your choices to me by email and I'll pick one. The music scene is changing again, so if you want to be relevant, we're going to have to-"

"-Miss Romanoff," that was Bruce, "no offence, but we stopped caring about relevancy about fifteen years ago."

Her head snapped up, "What?" Exactly _what_ was the point if one wasn’t relevant? That's what brings the money in, that's what sells the records, that's what-

"We have really awesome fans. And a lot of them," this time Steve, looking at her with a shy grin. _Feisty boy from Brooklyn, my ass._ "They buy the albums, they play the songs on Spotify, they sell out the tours… Radio doesn't give a damn about five middle aged guys who are still in a boy band."

She was losing ground quickly. _Fuck. "_ But you could-" 

"We _tried,_ " Tony interjected. "Null and void. The teens don't want to hear songs about love in perfect harmony. They want ass and titties and _drank_."

"The fuck is _drank_?" Clint asked, looking at Tony with his head tilted.

"I'm 42, you think I fucking know?"

This was getting out of hand already. "Okay! Back on subject! I get that you tried, but we're going to _try again_ . The Avengers' stock is still worth a pretty penny, I get that, but it'll be worth _even more_ if we can get you back in the Top 40 and onto the playlists of teenagers."

Bruce sighed, "Miss Romanoff-"

"-Call me Natasha."

"Natasha then." He sat forward, crossing his arms and laying them on the table, "I'm sure you have good intentions, but we've been doing this since 1994. We pioneered the resurrected boy band phase, and _we outlasted them all_ . We know our way around this business. We've been burnt, kicked, chewed up, and spit out like a bad piece of beef jerky. _And we're still here._ "

Thor nodded, swiveling his chair to face Natasha, "We just want to make music and enjoy our fans. Leave the rat race to the younger groups. It's just not our scene anymore."

"Your job is simple," Tony added, "all you need to do is concentrate on promo, making sure it fits what the fans want, and help set up our tour and appearances. You hire the video directors, _we_ will figure out the cost and the choreo. At this point in the game, we've handled so much shit on our own, we don't _exactly_ need a manager. We just need an extra set of hands."

Now she understood why other managers had up and quit on them. It wasn't because they were mean or egotistical or cruel; they weren't divas. 

They were independent. Jaded. Hurt so badly by the industry they loved that they just… took it all upon themselves; they had each other's backs. No one else's. 

"Look, I don't know _precisely_ what you guys have been through, but I know my job. And if I can get Ty Stone-" Tony made a disgusted face at the name, "-back on the charts, I think I can get you guys there too."

"You worked with Ty?" Steve said softly, glancing at Tony. 

"Yeah, I'm the one who got him into rehab." At his incredulous look, she pressed on quickly, "I'm the one who chose _Give Me Everything_ for his return single, _I'm_ the one who helped clean him up. _That_ was hard work. Five guys with incredible voices who _cleaned themselves up_? Cake." Or apple pie. If she kept saying it, it might just come true.

Tony's right hand was pressed against his chin in agitation. He rocked side to side in the swivel chair, trading glances with Bruce who sat next to him. 

Steve continued, "Ty Stone is a megalomaniac with a halfway decent voice and auto-tune. He's _not a good person_."

Natasha raised her eyebrows, "Well aware. But I _still_ did my job."

"That's all good and well, _Miss Romanoff_ ," Tony shot back, his mood sour at the mention of Ty Stone, "but we don't _need_ all that much help." He pulled her briefcase toward him, plucking the file on top of the orderly pile. "Tour contracts, did you say?"

She sighed, knowing she wasn't getting much else done at that moment. "Yes," she relinquished, "I took the liberty of starting you guys in New Mexico, and you end in New York at the Jones Beach Theater. March 15th through September 12th, fifty-six dates, with some double shows."

"Sounds good," Clint said, "what about summer shows? Will we be able to squeeze any of those in?"

"Yes!" Finally something they could agree on, "I've spoken with KTU about doing KTUphoria again; they're stoked to have you. Your fans help sell the place out."

"Headlining?"

"Definitely. They know who's buying the most tickets. You'll do a 45 minute set; I recommend a mix of the old and new, because there will be some younger people there or an older crowd who could be swayed by a good live show-"

"We know," Steve interrupted, plucking a contract from the file in Tony's hands to look over, "KTU caters to an older crowd. We play the standards and pepper in one or two new songs, that's it."

"Right." It was no time to lose footing, so she hurried on. "Also, BLI said they'd consider letting you guys in for SummerJam _if_ you can make the charts. That's a decidedly younger crowd. It could be good for you."

"Not headlining," Tony let his head drop to the side and the file flop over just a little. _Drama queen._

"No," she said slowly instead, "but close. This is New York, guys. Both of these shows. It'll be a rough weekend, you don't need to headline two shows back to back in one weekend in June when you're _going_ to be back in September. Besides," she offered up, "it's more important that you give the younger crowd something to talk about that _isn't_ auto-tune."

"And that's _if_ we chart," Thor pointed out softly.

"We're not going to chart." Clint was shaking his head. "And anyway, our fans pay a lot of money to get front row at these events, a twenty-five minute set isn't worth it for them to waste hundreds of dollars."

"They will anyway," Tony added, "because we have the best fans in the entire fucking universe, but we _need_ to give them bang for their buck. It's headlining or nothing. They're not paying $500 for front row to see us sing five songs."

Natasha tried, she really did, not to let her disappointment show on her face. "Look, guys, you're better than 90% of the music currently in the 40. You have more talent in your-

"-Pinky fingers, we know." Bruce finished for her, "and we appreciate you saying that, believe me. We've worked really hard to sound like we do, our voices fit seamlessly together. But that's _not_ what the younger demographic want. As Tones said before, they want hip-hop beats and songs about getting _lit-"_

"-I don't ever want to hear that word out of your mouth again, Bruce," Clint stage whispered.

Bruce continued like he hadn't even heard him, "-They don't want well composed harmonies waxing poetic about love and loss." He sat back, giving her a small and kind smile, "I don't mean to burst your bubble. Really. But you need to face facts."

"We've got a good thing going here," Thor added, leaning forward to catch her eye, "we chart in the adult contemporary charts," he made a quick face at the wording but kept on, "and our fans have enough clout to sell out 15 to 20 thousand seat venues. Merch sales are high, VIP and Soundcheck continuously sell out...Natasha, we've got _revenue_ . We get to keep doing what we love _with each other._ I think we're doing just fine."

She was a bit taken aback by the passion they spoke with. These were five guys who _loved_ what they did. They didn't want to mess with the status quo because it _worked for them_ . But it was also complacency. They had their peak, twenty years previous: throngs of fans, record breaking albums and tours, number one after number one after number one… they were just happy to still be able to make music. Maybe there weren't _quite_ as many fans as the late 90's and early aughts, but the quantity was still nothing to scoff at. And they still screamed _just_ as loud. 

She took a deep breath. "Okay, how about this? I know that you guys don't know me from a hole in the wall, but I want to _try_ to get you in the Top 40 again," she held her hands up placatingly at the start of their protests. "Just this album. If it doesn't work, then I swear you guys can go right back to what you were doing."

They were quiet, contemplating, trading looks and silent conversations only understood through twenty-five years of working together and being each other's pillars and family. 

It was Steve who spoke at last, "Okay," he started, still a bit hesitant, "Okay. But if this doesn't work, you let the issue drop."

"Done!" It was hard to contain her excitement--she loved a good challenge, "Deal!" Standing, she gathered her briefcase, gesturing to the file still in Tony's hands, "You keep that, look it over. You guys won't regret this." Snapping the case shut, she stood tall and proud, conveying every bit of confidence she could. They reacted well to friendly and straightforward; she would stay along those lines. "Send me _every_ song you've recorded thus far for the new album. Let me hear them, and I'll let you know if they fit." Tugging a business card from her suit jacket, she handed it to Clint, lightly brushing his hand and suppressing a shiver ( _what was that?),_ "All my info is in there. Right. Good! Very proactive meeting, boys, now let's see The Avengers back on the top of the marquee!" They winced. _Too cheerful, Nat, you're losing them!_ "We got this," she said, turning down the happy act enough to set them better at ease. She could effortlessly play the part of overly excited manager; that worked on the new acts and the old ones too dumb to realize, but not these guys.

They were smart. Wise. They deserved more respect than a fake play at cheerleader. 

And she was determined to get them the respect they deserved from the industry as well.

Damn. Nick was right. _She liked them too._

**  
  
**

* * *

**  
  
**

As soon as the door clicked behind her, Tony swivelled to stare wide eyed at his bandmates, “The actual fuck was that?"

"What did we sign up for, more like." Bruce said, rubbing his eyes and sending his glasses up his forehead.

Clint let his head drop onto his arms and Thor pat his back with a smile, "We are so screwed." His voice was muffled slightly by his shirt. 

"Fellas," Steve began, always the one to rally the troops, "maybe this is a good thing." He spread his arms out, inviting them to see the positive. "We're at a new label with a manager who might actually know what she's doing!" Of course, Tony had to ruin it. 

"Do I get to twerk at least?" he cheeked with a mischievous grin.

Bruce swatted at him, "Gross!"

"Hey! I got dumps like a truck, truck, truck!"

"Oh god, someone find the off button!" Bruce laughed, watching as Tony stood to stick his bottom out, turning so his back faced the table.

"Guys like what, what, what!" His attempt at twerking was atrocious. 

"Don't throw your back out, Tony!" cackled Clint, covering his eyes. 

"Baby move your butt, butt, butt!"

"Tony!" But Steve was laughing too hard to finish.

"Now let me sing it again!"

If the interns and workers of Hydra Records suddenly heard five adult male voices singing _The Thong Song_ loudly from a conference room, nobody said anything. 

**  
  
**

* * *

**  
  
**

"Tony! Tony! Can I have a picture?"

"Oh my God! Clint! Hi! Clint! It's my mom's birthday, can you sing to her?"

The brisk October morning was colorful, the trees turning vibrant shades of yellow and gold with the wind twiddling through the leaves like a hand through hair. Tony pulled his coat tighter around his neck and turned towards the fans bundled up outside the restaurant. He recognized them from various events and smiled warmly, "Hi, beautifuls!"

The blonde on the right beamed, "Hi, Tony!"

He put his arm around her as she held her phone up for a selfie, "What brings you ladies out today?" He gave his best smile as the camera clicked.

"We were just shopping! What are you doing here?"

Clint stepped away from the brunette after their selfie was completed and moved next to the blonde, "Tones and I are out to get lunch."

They giggled at the nickname, the friendship between their 'boys' being what they loved the most, other than five good looking men with voices to melt ice. "How's the new album coming?"

Tony made a goofy face for the brunette's selfie. She laughed loudly, making a face herself. He stood up straight and shoved his cold hands into his pockets, "Really well! You guys are gonna love it!"

"It's amazing, Tony hardly sings on it at all," Clint joked, making Tony throw his head back in laughter.

"Can't get a note in edgewise with you screeching!"

The girls were in a fit of giggles, and Tony knew there'd be tweets about this later, the Avenger Army gushing over their antics. 

The blonde handed Clint her phone, "My mom, you're her favorite!"

"Smart woman," Clint grinned, taking the phone to wish her a happy birthday. Tony turned away from him to continue making idle chatter with the fans. They had moved to the curb as the sidewalks were filled with the lunchtime rush. 

People passed, some with curious looks, but most walked by as if Tony and Clint meant nothing to them. Years ago, that would have been not only impossible, but Tony and Clint may have even been a little offended. They _were_ the biggest boy band in the world. You couldn't pass a single newspaper stand or magazine cart without seeing their faces. 

These days, the baby faces had matured into handsome men, they didn't often make the front cover, and they were okay with that. Even experiences like this, where fans stopped them on the street, were rare. 

It was nice to have even a semblance of normalcy after years in the spotlight, to be able to go to lunch without worrying about bodyguards and getting their shirts ripped clean off them, to be able to go food shopping or to the gym without a thousand cameras going off.

It was wonderful to not have every move scrutinized by the public.

But still, sometimes they missed it. The attention could be fun, and the perks even better. Faster seating at the most expensive restaurants, cutting the line at clubs, and being showered with gifts everywhere they went.

They also missed getting into a cab or walking into a store and hearing one of _their_ songs being played on the radio, despite what they had told Natasha. Those days were definitely over. Though, if their new manager had anything to say about it, they were coming again.

Inside the restaurant, Clint checked in with the maitre d' and Tony pulled out his phone, sending a tweet about the fans they had just met (again) to really give them something to boast about. 

"Selfie!" He chucked, throwing his arm around Clint and pulling him close. Clint threw up a peace sign and they both smiled. "Oh, that's awful," Tony chuckled, looking at the photo. 

"You have like six chins there."

"Thanks for pointing that out, you're such a good friend." Tony mumbled, elbowing Clint lightly. He turned to a waitress, "Hey! You mind taking a picture of us? Please and thank you!"

The waitress, a young girl who looked barely old enough to work there, smiled. "Sure thing!"

Tony turned so his back was to Clint's, "serious face!" Clint threw his head up and gave a pout, sliding his sunglasses down at the last moment. She handed the phone back, not a single glint of recognition on her face. 

"Enjoy your lunch!"

"Thanks! You too!" Clint went red.

Tony didn't even bother looking up from his phone, "How are you _still_ this awkward?"

"Shut up."

With a grin, Tony showed him the screen, "But you take a mean picture!"

****

"I'm fucking adorable," Clint chuckled, handing the phone back. "Send me that, I'll add it to the wall." In his office in LA, Clint kept hundreds, possibly thousands of photos tacked up, a verifiable collection of their years together. Tony had tried to go through them. Once. He gave up ten minutes in. 

"Will do, sugar pie."

_"Two for Barton?"_

"That's us!" Clint raised his hand at the maitre d', walking forwards with Tony behind him. They followed to their table, sitting and picking up the menus. "I want a big, fat, juicy steak. Covered in butter."

"And your doctor wants you to chill out and stop trying to clog your veins." Tony responded, looking over his glasses at him. "If Bruce hears-"

"Bruce won't hear because _you're_ not going to tell him," Clint groused, setting the menu aside. 

"You're 40, Clinty, not getting any younger."

"Still two years younger than you!"

Tony gave a quiet chuckle, "Touché. Hey," he started, letting his elbow rest on the table and pointing to Clint, "You think that Natasha chick knows what she's doing?"

Clint shrugged, "Seems like it. She got Ty back on the radio, I wondered how that happened." Tony gave a shudder. "Shit. Sorry, didn't mean to say the devil's name."

"It was years ago, don't know why he still gets to me." Tony spoke into his water glass, taking a long gulp and setting it down before rubbing his eyes. "I swear he knows the power he holds over me too."

"Tones," Clint sighed, "what he did to you-"

"-don't say it-"

"-is unforgivable. But he only holds power because you continue to let him." 

Tony dropped his hands flat on the table, the bang and clanking of glasses startling an older couple next to them. "I already spend _thousands_ upon _thousands_ of dollars for the best therapists money can buy. I don't need another one, you mother hen."

Knowing he needed to lighten the conversation before Tony's thoughts got too dark, Clint smirked, "Thousands, huh? Well, tell them they're doing a piss poor job of it." He shook out his cloth napkin in a grand flourish to send his point home, "I'll give you a diagnosis for free: you're a goddamn lunatic, and I love ya for it!"

"Well, at least _somebody_ appreciates a good crazy around here," Tony preened, sitting up straight.

"Good company, and all that."

"Is that what it is?" Tony said, finally setting the menu down. 

"Something like that. Hey!" He pointed right into Tony's face, who swatted at the hand and leaned back, "Hey, don't do-stop that! I'm trying to talk here!"

"Get your booger picking finger out of my face!" Blowing through his lips as if he could create enough wind to send Clint's hand away from him, Tony tried really hard not to laugh. 

"Ass. Listen to me," Clint smacked Tony's hand away that was waving at his to make more fake wind, "What are you? Six? Stop that. Tony!"

They were giggling hard, trying to stay quiet enough to not be rude, _but it was just too funny._ The elderly couple at the table next to them glared, but it only served to make them laugh harder. 

Had it been 1999, their antics would have made headlines. **Avengers Singers Disrupt Lunch!** _Stark and Barton cause scene in five star._ But it wasn't. It was 2018, and no one gave a rat's ass if they acted like children. 

Finally calming, Clint picked up the subject again, "Now, would you listen to me?"

"Yeah, yeah," Tony waved his hand again, taking a sip of water with his other, "fine, go ahead."

"I'm just saying," Tony gave him a look at that. Whenever Clint was _just saying_ it usually meant he was about to breach the one topic Tony really didn't want to discuss, aside from Ty Stone, that is, "that you should just climb into Steve's la-"

"-Enough!" He leaned forward and put his hand over Clint's mouth. "I swear you wait three months for my guard to drop then you bring up Steve just to see me squirm." He paused. "Cut that shit out." Clint's tongue darted out to lick Tony's palm, "Ew! I don't know where that's been!" He wiped his hand on the tablecloth like the gentlemen he claimed to be. 

"Tones, would you _just tell him_?"

Tony shot him an incredulous look, "I'll take 'Things that are never going to happen for 500,' Alex!’"

"For the love of-"

"-Drop it, Barton." The waiter was approaching the table, so Tony lowered his voice and leaned forward, "Steve looks at me like a brother, he will _never_ feel that way about me, so I just continue to live _just fine_ with having his friendship, and that's that. Let it go."

"You're an idiot."

"All part of my charm."

"Gentlemen, I'm Ryan, may I start you with a drink?"

  
  


* * *

  
  


Across town, in the AirBnB that they had rented for the week, Steve was making coffee and half listening to the news. At the dining room table, Thor had spread the contracts out, going over them with a careful eye, and Bruce sat on the couch, lazily strumming his guitar and singing a few bars here and there. 

Steve added a quick swirl of half and half to one of the cups, left one black, and added a heaping of French vanilla creamer to a third. After so many years together, he knew exactly how they each took their coffee. 

"Natasha needs to reassess the Texas date," Thor said as he took the sweet coffee from Steve's hands, "Thanks," he took a sip, "not sure the stage we want will be right for that venue."

"We can adjust," Bruce said, taking the black coffee and nodding his thanks, "I'm less worried about Cedar Park and more worried about Chicago. I didn't like their security last time."

"What about this whole thing with SummerJam, and wanting to get back onto the charts?" Moving a few pages of sheet music to the side, Steve sat on the couch next to Bruce. 

He shrugged, setting the guitar on the floor, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it." 

"I think that goes for us all. But is it _possible?_ "

Bruce leaned forward, steepling his fingers, "Anything is possible, but that doesn't mean it's going to be easy."

_Anything is possible._ He should have been thinking about the music, but Steve's thoughts turned, as they often did, to his missing best friend. A man he grew up with and served with, who had vanished two weeks into their return from Kuwait. He had never stopped searching for him. _But that doesn't mean it's going to be easy._

"We haven't written or sang songs for the Top 40 demographic in years," Thor added, interrupting Steve's memories, and leaning over the back of the couch, one of the contracts still on his hand. He gestured with it. "We're considered adult contemporary now."

"How do we go along with what Natasha has planned and not alienate our core fanbase?" Steve mused, looking back at Thor and then to Bruce, "And we tried the Top 40 sound with **_Undone_ ** and it fell flat," he looked sheepish for a moment, glancing at Thor. "It was just the four of us then. We thought we'd try something different."

Thor was quiet for a moment, the unspoken words hanging between them. _Just the four of us, because you left._

"Well," Thor started again, "you were on your own then. The label was jerking you around and…" he paused, "you didn't have me to fight in your corner. I'm sorry for that. But I can't change it now."

"You've been back for a while now," Bruce patted his arm and stood. "That's what matters."

"Tell that to Tony and Clint."

Steve sighed, "They love you-"

"But they don't confide in me anymore."

"They do, you're still their brother," Steve continued, looking up at him. "They just want to know you're here to stay."

"Four years isn't enough?"

"They're getting there, Thor," Steve comforted softly. "They've always been, uh, more aloof?" He looked to Bruce to see if he was wording it right.

Bruce chuckled lightly, "I wouldn't say aloof. But they have major trust issues-" he walked over to the dining room table, pushing several contracts around and plucking one from the pile.

"-They're waiting for me to leave again."

"They're just making sure you're staying," Steve gently corrected. "They've both been through a lot."

"I know. I hate that I added to it."

Steve took his empty mug. "Let me get you more coffee." Sometimes the best comfort was the little things, small actions to help take care of those one loved. Coffee was one of those things between the bandmates: a warm drink, a favorite mug, and conversation. These were the things the fans _didn't_ know about. 

* * *

  
  


"Play that back for me?"

Pepper Potts, the boys' long time friend and favorite composer and producer, hit the replay button, "Sounds good on my end, Bruce, but I'd like to see a bit less vibrato on that high E?"

Bruce nodded, "No, you're right. That's going to stick out like a sore thumb over Clint's melody." 

Steve adjusted himself on the couch behind the mixing board, "Think we should add a bass line in there, Pepper?"

Tony leaned over, interrupting in his usual way, "Stevie! Selfie!" It wasn't like Steve could ever say no to him, so he flashed a cheeky smile and leaned close to Tony. He didn't care what the photo looked like, to him every picture was a memory, good or bad.

  
  


Pepper leaned back in her chair, ignoring the impromptu photoshoot (it happened constantly with Tony around, anyway) and swinging around so she could see Steve. "Maybe. I like that. Thor, you want to try it?"

"Think I can come up with something," Thor said. "Let me have fifteen in the next room." He stood, picking up the sheet music. Pepper nodded and swivelled back around, hitting the playback for Bruce. 

"Hey, Pep," Tony remarked after Thor left the room, "You ever work with a Natasha Romanoff before? Manager? Bit bossy?"

"I know of her, she did work with a few singers I've worked with, don't know much, why?" She paused and laughed, "is she the new manager? How long before you chase this one away?"

Tony grumbled under his breath, "Not my fault they're all useless."

"Bruce, that's perfect," Pepper spoke into the microphone connecting the booth to them, "let's take a break." She looked back over at the other boys, "Go tell Thor, he can pick up on the harmony later, I need lunch."

Clint nodded and stood, "I'll get him. Thai?" he asked, moving to the door. 

"Count me out," Tony answered, stretching, "I'm not hungry, think I'll take the guitar outside." He ambled to his feet and picked up his Martin and the red leather journal he used for writing his lyrics and guitar tabs. 

Clint made a face, shooting it at Steve and slipping out to get Thor. Steve understood. When it came to Tony and his own self care, Steve was the only one who could get him to eat or sleep or even to shower when Tony was focused on work. He was a musical genius, able to play almost any instrument he picked up, lyrics and notes coming easily to him, and he had perfect pitch. That coupled with an incredible voice and his looks made him perfect as a pop star, an absolute dream for producers to work with. But it also meant he got into zones; habitual behaviors that took up all the space in his brain and pushed other things out, things he deemed unnecessary like eating or sleeping or bathing. He would fall into his genius, letting the music consume him, and if they didn't dive into his mind and pull him out, he would go days without any of it. 

"Tony," Steve started, but Tony had already snuck from the room. 

Bruce laughed affectionately, "He's like a musically inclined ninja savant. Check the bench out back, I found him there this morning."

Nodding, Steve left the room, turning down the corridor and taking the steps to the bottom floor. He heard Tony's voice before he even opened the backdoor. As quietly as possible, he pushed it open.

[ _'Cause_ ](https://youtu.be/m3er-9z1z6w) _everybody walks alone_

_When they feel like they don't belong_

_If only you try, then you can have it all_

_But you need to let go, of everything you know_

_If you live and let die, then you will have it all_

Tony sat in the small courtyard behind the studio, his voice ringing out like a prayer. 

Looking directly at the oak tree and the bench underneath, no one would guess that the small square of solitude had Manhattan springing up around it, buildings on all sides and the sunlight partially blocked by the tree. The wrought iron fence cast strange shadows across Tony's face as he sang, the light moving the dark bars across his features with the breeze. His eyes were closed, and the guitar sat propped on his knee, the strap curling around his body like armor, protecting him. 

_And I'll wait for you now_

_While you turn things around_

_I will wait for you now_

_To be ready, when you are_

Steve swallowed, leaning against the door frame. There was a beauty in Tony that couldn't be quantified by his large, doe-like eyes or his jawline. It would never be defined by his smooth olive skin, or the solid body underneath his designer clothing. It was something that existed only inside Tony: a grace that was exhibited through his music. Personal lyrics and melodies that told stories, notes that climbed through the air like a gentle fog, enveloping and mysterious. When Tony sang, he was like an orchid blooming, rare and beautiful all at once. 

And Steve loved him with every fiber of his being. Had loved him since the day they met, when he was 21 and Tony a saucy 18-year-old with a chip on his shoulder. He thought he would never get through to the disgruntled teen, but when Tony started singing his audition, his walls dropped. He revealed himself in a way he never did otherwise, at least not until Steve got to know him better. But that was when he fell for him, when a stranger walked into the room and opened up his hills and valleys, and Steve knew he had found his person. He just never had the guts to admit it out loud. 

Steve was about to speak when a sound in the alleyway leading to the street drew his attention. The gate has clanged open, hitting against the metal of its posts. Tony's singing had drawn the attention of someone. A man tumbled out, his long hair and beard scraggly on his face. He was dirty, and his clothes old and worn. Tony was shocked out of his music as the man approached.

"Spare a dollar?" he rasped, falling to his knees in front of Tony, begging. 

Tony recoiled in surprise, "What?"

"Spare a dollar?" The man held his hand out, his palm covered by greyed fingerless gloves. "I haven't eaten in three days," he pleaded, "just a dollar. That's nothing to you."

Tony was reaching into his pocket for his wallet when the voice registered to Steve. It was familiar. It sent a bolt of hope flooding through his chest.

"Here, man, get some food," Tony plucked a twenty from the folds of his money clip, and Steve stumbled forward, shock taking his breath and balance.

"Is that.. Is it you?" The man's head whipped around, his eyes still bright after almost thirty years living on the streets. But Steve knew them like he knew his own. "Oh my God." He dropped to his knees next to him, reaching out but afraid to touch. Petrified that he wasn't real. 

"Bucky?"

A breeze blew through the courtyard, and Bucky Barnes shivered. 

-

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated, in any capacity, but I would love to hear about what you think in the comments! Thank you for reading!
> 
> THIS IS A CHAPTERED FIC! I forgot to check the box when originally posted, and went back in and did it. It'll take a bit to update. This is chapter 1/?


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